


You Love Each Other?

by Ravxnclaw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Drarry, M/M, PTSD!Draco, Post Second Wizarding War, Ron is kind of a dick, Stereotypically fluffy ending, as always right, reference to mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:16:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravxnclaw/pseuds/Ravxnclaw
Summary: The culmination of two strong thoughts I have about their future - Ron is terrible at handling change and Draco is more damaged than anyone after the War.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters involved or referenced nor do I claim to, I don't plan on making any money on this it's purely an outlet for my angsty Harry Potter feelings.  
>  **ALSO** I can't write Fantastic Beasts fics to save my life, but if you're interested http://archiveofourown.org/works/8571337/chapters/19650148 is 12/10 would reccomend

“Draco, honey-”  
“Don’t you _honey_ me, Potter.” Harry flinched as the last word is spit at him, the sarcasm oozing from every word. He didn’t know how he was supposed to respond but knew that he was going to be wrong no matter what. He could tell that he was in for a rough night when he saw the way Draco’s eyes were glossed over, his body present but his mind lost a decade in the past. He’d been sucked into his teenage self once again, lost in the self hatred that accompanied everyone who made it out of the war alive.  
“Don’t call me that.” Harry murmured, trying to keep his voice soft in the first of what was surely going to be many attempts to pull Draco back to reality. He watched as thin arms locked over a familiar chest, tucking in on himself as he closed off to the world. Harry could almost see the way that Draco was sinking into himself as he lowered onto the couch, legs clad in expensive trousers tucking up as if he was a child protecting himself from the world once more. Harry was itching to get closer, knowing how much touch helped him when he had his own traumatic moments, but he’d learned long ago that Draco needed distance. He needed to work through it on his own, allowing only Harry’s voice to reach him in his stupor.  
“Malfoy.” Harry took a seat next to his husband, using the childish name in an attempt to penetrate the years of damage he knew the other man was reliving in that moment. He stretched out his hand on the back of the couch, silently cursing himself for drinking when he was having dinner with Ron earlier in the evening. His head was still swimming a little and he felt too warm, reminiscing on the thoughts of his warm bed and cuddly husband he’d been entertaining on his trip home.  
“Potter.” He felt thin fingers thread through his own, the hand clammy and sweaty as it clung to him like a lifeline. He wanted to wrap Draco in his arms and protect him from the world, but the only thing he needed protection from was inside his own mind. There had been rare occasions when Draco was willing to speak about what he’d gone through during the horrible years of the Wizarding War and Harry swore his heart had broken just from hearing about it.  
The wheezing breaths from the other end of the couch seemed so out of place from a man in such a nice suit and a haircut more expensive than Harry’s entire wardrobe, everything about his appearance screaming _I’m better than you and I know it_ other than the haunted look behind his eyes. Harry knew that they were both haunted by the same horror, the same man who had stolen their peace of mind though he was long dead. He slid closer, the dreams of his cozy comforter still nagging at the back of his mind.  
“Can we go to bed?” Harry made sure to keep his voice soft, knowing how important it was to both of them to just ride the episode out and wishing that he could at least get it to happen somewhere he knew Draco would be comfortable. Draco’s eyes focused on him for a moment but they didn’t seem to recognize him as a husband and life partner, they looked at him like he was a stranger.  
“Bed, Potter?” Draco spit, the words were venomous as he sat forward. Harry flinched back as the thin fingers bit into his skin, too harsh for his liking as he watched the man who held his heart turn back into a bratty little boy. “Sorry to bother you with my mental illness when all you want is a good shag.”  
“I just want-”  
“I know I’m a good fuck, but I’m not in the mood.” Draco tossed Harry’s hand away as if it was an offense and Harry had to remind himself that he didn’t mean it. He knew that in a few moments he would have his husband back, the loving husband who would whisper his love against every inch of Harry’s skin and run his fingers through the dark mess of hair until he couldn’t possibly stay awake.  
“I’m sorry, I know I was gone for a while but-”  
“Oh don’t worry about it, it’s not like we have any commitment to one another.” The mischievous wrinkle in his nose was so reminiscent of his young self that in any other situation Harry would have loved it, but the hateful words quelled the cuteness of the action.  
“I would have taken you to dinner with me, but I didn’t think you’d want to come.”  
“On no, Potter, I _love_ sitting and listening to your friends moan about how horrible I am, how wrong for you I am, or how you just haven’t found the right woman yet.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking exhausted from the sheer action of speaking through the bombardment of memories.  
“They don’t think you’re terrible.” Harry leaned in, wishing that he could kiss away the angry smirk growing on the beautiful face.  
“Oh, really? Because Weasley still thinks that I’m the scum of the earth and you’re only with me to piss off everyone who thinks that you’re a total hero. Just think about it, the golden savior of the wizarding world caught fucking a failed Death Eater.”  
Harry almost rose to the bait, knowing that Draco wanted a fight, but he wasn’t willing to do it. He knew that Draco was angry at everything else but him and that he was caught between the anxiety of his youth and the realization that his memories were never going to disappear.  
“Please, Draco just come here.” Harry was pleading through the cloud of confusion, alcohol, and lack of sleep and all that he wanted was his husband in his arms again. He knew that Draco didn’t choose when he had an episode, nor did he enjoy it any more than Harry did, but he still didn’t know how to fix it.  
Draco scooted forward, the wrinkles in his brow and the set of his jaw signalling to Harry that he wasn’t completely back yet. His eyes looked clearer and his thumb was worrying at his wedding band, a habit familiar from the more modern him instead of the sassy seventeen year old. He felt a soft forehead rest against his shoulder, listening to the labored breathing as Draco’s hands clenched and unclenched as he tried to ground himself.  
“Harry.” He heard Draco’s strangled voice, but he refused to move. He didn’t want to end up pushing Draco too far and make him feel trapped, didn’t want to wrap him up and send him spiralling back into the memories that he wanted nothing more than to forget. He felt the tip of a pointed nose rub along his jawline and a kiss press to his neck, shaky but still there. He sighed to himself as arms snaked around his chest, relaxing some as he heard a string of ragged sighs. The use of his first name made the situation seem almost normal, and the fingers tightening on the edge of his shirt made it clear that the memories were receding.  
“Draco.” He whispered the name into the tousled but clean smelling blonde hair, reminding the man curling into him that they were no longer at odds and didn’t need to call each other by their last names. He wasn’t Malfoy, the boy who taunted him every once in awhile and lived to be Harry’s nemesis. He was Draco, the man who had cried at their wedding and slept in a faded maroon jumper with a large ‘H’ on the front.  
“I’m sorry.”  
The meek voice went straight to his heart as he heard a soft sniffling. He hated the fact that Draco felt so embarrassed over something that he couldn’t control and he clambered into Harry’s lap, keeping his face hidden in the damp material on his shoulder. Harry sighed in relief as he felt thin arms lock around his neck, not allowing for any space between the two.  
Harry remained silent as Draco wrapped around him, finally finding comfort in touch instead of feeling crowded. He was glad that the episode had gone over without major incident, especially after the evening he’d had. He had planned to tell Draco about it as soon as he got home, he really had, but he hadn’t been expecting the storm of depression that he’d found.  
“Can we go to bed?” The words were whispered against his throat and Harry nodded, unable to do anything but watch as Draco collected himself once more. He stood up, straightening out his shirt and flattening his pants before he walked toward the stairs and up toward bed without taking a second glance back. Harry pressed himself into the couch for a moment, guilt chewing at the inside of his chest once he was alone. His mind drifted back to his dinner with Ron just a few hours prior, his resolve weakening as he promised himself that he’d tell Draco about it in the morning when they both had clearer heads.  
Pushing himself off the couch he felt drawn toward his warm bed, an easy smile growing on his face at the sight he was greeted with. He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, drinking in the sight of a sleepy Draco wearing his old Quidditch sweater, looking impossibly young once he was wearing green and silver once again. He smiled halfway at Harry as he wrapped the thick white blanket around himself, his cheeks still flushed and his eyes still retaining the faraway look in them that often accompanied some of the worse memories.  
As he undressed and laid down next to the pale body, his mind drifted again out of his control. He could see Draco in the soft light that was a constant in their bedroom, the dark always being too harsh of a reminder about the terrible presence of their past. His hand ghosted through the pale hair as he felt a leg rest over his own, the skin too cold for his liking. Draco always looked like he’d been physically ill after he’d had a particularly bad episode, his skin pale and his freezing fingertips pressing into Harry’s side, barely serving to keep Harry from falling into his own memories.  
_“Come on Harry, you never see us anymore. How can that be healthy?”_  
_“It’s not Draco’s fault that I never see you and you know it.”_  
_“If Malfoy has a problem with me he needs to deal with it like an adult.”_  
_“His only problem is the fact that every time I try to bring him ‘round, you give him shit until he can’t take it anymore.”_  
_“I’m just joking!”_  
_“You’re not joking and we both know that.”_  
_Ron had taken a deep drink from his pint at Harry’s words, glaring at him as if he was the real enemy. Ron had put on some weight and was starting to resemble his father more than his younger self those days, but Harry kept that to himself. He hadn’t been too friendly with Ron through the last few years, most of it stemming from his best friend’s outright refusal to attend Harry’s wedding._  
_“He’s - Harry, he’s Malfoy. You remember him, the boy who called my wife a Mudblood and you Scarhead for seven years?”_  
_“Your wife showed up to my wedding.”_ _Harry’s voice was cold as he stood, paying the bartender before pushing in his chair. “You didn’t.”_  
_“I knew you were making a mistake.”_  
_“You were my best friend, Ronald!”_  
_“Am I not now?” He was just daring Harry to push him a little further, as they’d never been this open. Usually the topic was covered with snide comments that Harry found hard to ignore and ended with Hermione’s elbow in Ron’s ribs, but Rose had been sick and Hermione had trusted them alone._  
_“Not if you’re going to continual to badmouth my husband.” Ron scoffed at the word and Harry felt like his insides were on fire._  
_“He’s using you, Harry. I don’t trust him.”_  
_“Maybe you would if you’d actually spent some time with him in the last fifteen years.”_  
_“No thanks.”_  
Harry dragged his fingers down Draco’s back, smiling to himself at the soft kiss that was placed on his shoulder in response. He could tell that the stress hadn’t entirely left Draco’s body from the stiffness in his usually lax limbs, his thin muscles clamping down around Harry’s middle and leaving no hope for escape. The grey eyes that he’d been in love with for years opened lazily and met his, still clouded with the ghosts of their past.  
“I know Weasley doesn’t like you being with me.” Draco’s words were harsh against the gentle quiet that had fallen over the room, his cold toes pressing into the warm flesh of Harry’s thigh. His heart raced and he wondered how it was possible for Draco to remain so calm in such an uncomfortable situation, half of a smile tugging at his mouth.  
“I don’t care.” Harry whispered, the alcohol and leftover anger making him braver, forging into a conversation he’d been ignoring and putting off for much too long.  
“You do care, Harry. He’s your best friend.” Draco’s brow creased with worry and it was so endearing, his fingers curling into the chest of Harry’s shirt and lips pulled together.  
“I love you.” Harry offered, watching as Draco’s face relaxed enough to lessen his guilt clenching in his stomach.  
“I love you too.”  
_“Bloody hell.”_  
Scrambling to sit up, Harry backed up against the headboard and was faced with an especially red-faced Ron. He was holding a bottle of Firewhiskey in his fist, half exposed from behind the bedroom door.  
“Ron, I-”  
“Oh for gods sake Ronald, did you just barge into their bedroom?” His wife sounded especially exasperated from somewhere behind him, but his eyes were stuck on Harry, who could feel Draco working to stay as still as possible in hopes of not being noticed.  
“You two really in love?” Ron asked bluntly, finger pointing between them. Harry managed a nod, feeling Draco’s fingers tighten around his shirt.  
“Of course they are, I've been telling you that for how many years now?” Hermione’s hand landed on Ron’s shoulder, dragging him back. “Now, if you're quite finished, you have your own marriage to worry about.” She turned on them, pulling Ron down the hallway with an apologetic smile. “Dinner at our house this weekend.”  
As they disappeared, Harry fell back against the headboard, unsure of what had just happened. He wasn't even sure he wanted to think about it, instead focusing on the relaxed smile on his husband’s face. Carding his fingers through the pale hair he wished for the thousandth time that he could write a letter to his younger self and remind him to be nice to the lonely blonde boy he'd fall in love with.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm embarrassing I know but I love these two too much


End file.
